A Crack in the Family’s Heart
William finished his dinner, carefully scraping the last bits of mashed potato from his plate, and glanced at his wife. Eleanor, humming a cheerful tune, was washing up in their cozy flat in Manchester. Her good mood seemed infectious, but unease grew in William’s chest.
“All done?” Eleanor turned with a smile. “Pass me your plate!”
William handed it over and sighed deeply.
“Ellie,” he began quietly. “Maybe you shouldn’t go tomorrow, eh?”
“What was that?” she asked, mishearing. “Hold on—just a sec!”
Eleanor rinsed the plate, turned off the tap, and sat across from him, drying her hands on a tea towel.
“Go on,” she said, watching him curiously.
“I said, maybe you shouldn’t go?” William repeated, his voice tight with tension. “You’ve no reason to be at my mum’s.”
Eleanor raised her eyebrows, surprised.
“Will,” she sighed, keeping her tone even. “First, we already agreed. Second, your mum rang and begged us to come. It’s her *milestone* birthday, not just any old day. And third—have you forgotten? I haven’t been further than the playground or Tesco in six months. I’d like a change of scenery!”
“And what did you expect?” William’s voice rose, irritation sharp in his words. “When you agreed to have a baby, you knew it wasn’t a toy! Kids need constant care. What kind of mother gets *tired* of her own child? I don’t get this nonsense!”
“It’s not nonsense,” Eleanor countered, steady. “I just want to go to your mum’s party. To breathe, to feel like a person again. I’m not off clubbing with mates—I’m going with my husband to a family do, invited by your *mother*!”
“You shouldn’t go at all. You’re a *mother*,” William snapped, his tone hardening.
“And you’re a *father*,” she shot back, a faint smile on her lips. “Brilliant. Then we’ll ring your mum tomorrow, and you can drop off her gift later.”
“What?” He blinked.
“You said it yourself—a child needs both parents. So tomorrow, we stay home and look after Oliver *together*. You’re just as much his parent as I am. Funny how you forgot that when it was your sister’s birthday or your mate’s do.”
“I needed a break!” he protested.
“And I don’t?” Eleanor met his gaze. “I’m with Oliver *all day*. More than you.”
“You’re his *mother*!” he repeated, like a mantra.
“And you’re his *father*!” she fired back.
William knew she wouldn’t budge. It was both of them or neither. *Stubborn*, he thought, then tried another angle.
“Fine,” he relented. “But who’ll watch Ollie? He’s only six months—you’re not dragging him to the restaurant?”
“My mum,” Eleanor said. “She offered.”
“And you’d burden her?” William’s voice climbed. “Parents should raise their own kid!”
“So we stay home tomorrow and *raise* Oliver?” she clarified, calm but firm.
“Alright, we’ll go,” he muttered. “But what’ll you wear? No money for a new dress, no time to shop.”
“Not an issue,” Eleanor laughed. “Haven’t you noticed I’ve lost weight? My old dresses fit again—hardly worn. Last time was a work do.”
—
The next day, William was sour as rain. He’d hoped his mum’s party would be his escape—a chance to unwind, chat, maybe dance with a pretty guest. Then home to silence, Ollie and Ellie asleep, and him slipping in past midnight. But she’d ruined it by insisting on coming.
Eleanor, though, was glowing. Oliver was angelic—playing in his cot, giving her time to get ready. Her mum arrived early, so there was no rush. She skipped the taxi; the restaurant was near the bus stop, and William would meet her there after work.
“Still going?” he grumbled over the phone.
Eleanor just smiled, shaking her head.
At the restaurant, they toasted his mother, handed over flowers and a gift, then took their seats.
“Ellie, love, let me fix you some salad!” his mum offered warmly.
“She can’t,” William cut in, glowering. “She’s breastfeeding!”
“It’s not *wine*,” his mother frowned.
“I know what I can have,” Eleanor said gently.
Minutes later, when his dad passed the seafood platter, William interrupted again:
“No fish either! Think of the baby!”
“Will, it’s *fine*,” Eleanor said, though her patience was thinning.
William seethed, watching her enjoy the evening. Her smile, her ease—it grated.
“Have you no shame?” he hissed. “Our son’s with your mum, and you’re here laughing! What if he’s screaming for you?”
“He’s not,” she said evenly. “I rang Mum—he ate and slept. Remember?”
William stabbed his salad, thinking, *Nothing gets to her. Bloody stubborn.*
“Will, dance with me?” Eleanor asked. “Live music—when did we last dance?”
“Go alone,” he snapped. “Not in the mood.”
Just then, a man from a nearby table approached.
“Mind if I steal your wife for a dance?” he asked politely.
William grimaced but nodded. As Eleanor danced away, he simmered. When she returned, he exploded:
“Have you no *decency*? I’m miserable, and instead of comforting *me*, you’re off with some bloke! A married woman, a *mother*! Our son’s at home, and you’re *giggling*!”
His voice carried. His mother shot him a sharp look and pulled him aside.
“What’s *wrong* with you?” she whispered, sweet-faced for guests. “Eleanor’s my *guest*! She’s stuck indoors, can’t even get her hair done! I *invited* her so she could breathe. Have you no heart?”
“Heart?” William scoffed. “She needs a break from *what*? Our son? She’s a *mum*—her job’s *him*, not dancing!”
“You’re sounding like a right selfish git!” his mother hissed. “Don’t ruin my party or her night!”
But her words only stoked his anger. He felt betrayed.
“We’re leaving,” he barked at Eleanor. “Taxi’s here.”
“Will, we *just* got here—”
“I’m going!” he near-shouted. “Stay and dance till dawn for all I care!” He stormed out without a goodbye.
Eleanor, tears in her eyes, followed. In the cab, William ranted:
“Was this worth it? You ruined my mood, my mum’s party! Nan’s minding Ollie after *work*, and you’re *laughing*! Hope you’re proud!”
Eleanor stayed silent, tears streaking her cheeks as she stared out the window.
A month later, she packed her things, took Oliver, and left for her mother’s. She couldn’t endure William’s temper anymore. Deep down, she hoped he’d reflect, apologise, change. But somewhere in her heart, she knew—men his age rarely did.